


Sansa Stark: The Dark Lights

by p_totel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Manipulation, Older Man/Younger Woman, basically sansa as the queen she deserved to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_totel/pseuds/p_totel
Summary: A series of little Sansa ficlets. The Dark Queen in the North, as she deserved to be.1. Underestimated - Sansa gets annoyed with Jon constantly underestimating her.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Sansa Stark: The Dark Lights

When Jon exited his tent, Sansa bit her lip in fury.  
"You are preparing the attack against Ramsay, _without_ me?" she firmly put her hand on Jon's wide chest, stopping the larger man in the spot.

"Oh sorry, Sansa. I didn't know you became a _war strategist_ in the meantime." he said in a dismissive voice, like she was just a nuisiance in this whole story. He tried to push past her. She felt fire rise in her throat.

"I am not a war strategist!" she hissed back. "But- whatever you are thinking you are doing-."

"We know what we are doing!" Jon flapped his arms around in equal hysteria. The stress has taken a toll at everyone; especially the two of them. "We have laid out a trap for him. He won't even know-."

"Oh. You laid out a trap for him." she cooed in a mocking voice and placed her hands on hips, "Please, tell me, Jon, about that trap. Tell me a story of how Ramsay Bolton slides into traps like a dancing maiden, twirling in his little pink dress and falling right into your arms. Are you normal?"

Jon tried to push past again. "We have set up a strategy."

"I _know_ him, Jon! He is the one _setting up the traps_ , he is the one laying them out, and you are stupid enough to fall right in his teeth! If you would only listen to-"

"To what?!" Jon snapped. "To you? And your amazing tactics skills? Instead of me and other experienced men who had already faced battles?"

She felt her jaw tense, the veins harden, the teeth grit. He had no idea. He had no idea who Ramsay was or what he would do - and true, maybe she didn't know about geography or battle positions or terrain - but she knew how his mind worked. And she knew Jon's mind as well. She knew what word games were, something Jon and his honorable just mind never learnt, she knew what lies and deceit meant, and what _traps actually are_.

"I have to prepare." Jon sighed and swatted her to the side, before pushing on, his cloak dragging behind him.

 _Ramsay will eat us all come morning,_ she hysterically thought, _and all these 'brave and experienced' men with honour and swords to swear on will die._

With a needle of pure ice in her throat, she ran to call the only person who knew how to play dirty.

She sent a raven to Petyr Baelish.  
***  
When, after the battle was over, they finally sat in the receiving hall of Winterfell, Sansa felt pride.

The survivors cheered and drank, doing their best to push the worst job that was to come back in their minds: the job of cleaning up the bodies and identifying them. The only thing that mattered was that they were alive.  
Northern lords were, as expected, less cheery than the ones from the Vale - but all in all, their goal was met. They kicked the Boltons out. Well, she did keep one for herself and tied him down in the kennels, but that was her own little prize.

It didn't even matter. Men drank in good spirits, doing their best to forget about the pile of the bodies they saw earlier that day.

Her heart swelled with pride. She saved them all. She knew Jon would take Ramsay's bait; she knew that Rickon will die anyway and she made peace with it. People die. Other people survive.

"Let's give a toast," at last, one man stood up with a full cup of ale, "to the one and only..."

 _Sansa Stark!_ she excitedly thought in her mind.

"Jon Snow. King in the North!" the man yelled.

One by one, the rest got up on their feet. Within seconds, the hall was filled with cheers and toasts, all of them chanting: _King in the North! King in the North!_

Sansa felt her head spin all out of sudden in disbelief. Her gaze circled the crowd, and her eyes stopped at the pair of grey-green ones. Littlefinger's mouth was spread in a tiny smug smirk.  
She unglued her eyes from him and looked around once again.

The Knights of the Vale all kept a clear strike in their eyes. They knew who they were here for.  
***

"How do you mean you will go meet up with Daenerys?!" Sansa shrieked in the middle of the meeting hall, outvoicing the group of Northern lords who started talking between each other the same second Jon announced his idiotic plan. "Send someone else!"

"She is a Queen. It would be insulting to send-." Jon tried to say, but Sansa got up on her feet.

"And you are a King! _King in the North._ " she said the last words with grimy disdain. The jelaousy bit her heart like a snake. The Northern lords took the tone as a positive thing - as her calling him to stay, which they all agreed with.

"We need the dragon glass. And we need her dragons. The dead-."

"The North needs you!" she screamed. How did he not get it? How did he not understand how these things _actually worked_?

"My decision is final." Jon rose his hand, stopping the excited and paranoid chatter. The Lords were discussing between themselves if Daenerys would burn him alive, or behead him, or take him prisoner.  
None of it sounded very good.

And now, Jon showed that he wasn't willing to listen to his own people anyway. Some would think that's a trait of a good ruler - independence and decisiveness - but she knew better. A King who doesn't listen to his people is a terrible King.

Her mind worked in frenzy. Hatred, jelaousy, and what-now's? rotated like a fast wheel in her head. Amidst all of that, the only person who sat in the hall, completely unphased was-

Littlefinger.  
***

"Sansa."

She was sitting in front of the window, going over the books and papers from the last year. This much wheat. That much ale. This many blankets. That many horses. Littlefinger's soft voice interrupted her and she rose her head.

"Yes?" she asked, unnerved.

"I wanted to see if you needed anything." he walked in. "You are the Lady of Winterfell now, after all."

"No, I'm fine." she sighed and leaned back in the chair.

Baelish grabbed a chair for himself and placed it right next to her. She slowly turned his head to look at him. The age didn't really touch him.  
What was he - 35 now? How many years has it been since they've met? He seemed the same as back then. Youthful and with laughing eyes.

Did he think she was stupid?

"This is all just a game. I am no Lady of Winterfell." she muttered. "Jon is the King. I am just a..."

"Glorified accountant." Baelish finished for her with a faint smile. "I've heard that phrase enough many times. Mostly behind my back."

Sansa couldn't help herself but longingly sigh once again.  
"They don't take me seriously at all." she added. "The Lords. It's me who is here, while Jon is out there, frollicking for weeks with the Targaryen girl in the South." she bitterly said, "While I'm trying to take care of everyone and everything!"

"I know. But who is taking care of you?" Baelish said sympathetically.

She hated how soft-mannered he sounded. Always everyone's friend and a shoulder, and she had to remind herself that he stabbed people in the back with less care than Roose Bolton. He fooled everyone. The entire court, the Vale, even her at times. She had to remind herself that Petyr and Littlefinger weren't the same people at all.

"You are pretty much the only living Stark." he said, and suddenly, the warm tone became that of a snake.

"Except for Jon." she quickly added. She wouldn't be accused of conspiracy _today_.

"Oh. Did he change his name in the meantime? Did Tommen send out some royal decree about legitimizing him? And even if he was a Stark, isn't he a sworn man of Night's watch?" Petyr's voice was low and mocking.

"None of that matters." she growled and got up. "It's the truth, but Lords have decided they don't care. Besides, he is honorable and good."

"I don't know many honorable people who last long in positions of power." Baelish concluded with that knowing smile.

Sansa's lips tightened.

***  
"He bent the knee." Sansa whispered in disbelief.  
The shock which overflowed her when she read the letter attached to raven's leg, all the way from Dragonstone, sent her in a state of shock.  
Her hands trembled as she held it.

Petyr sat in her room with a glass of wine and took a sip. His face seemed like he was at a city fair, watching a play unravel before his eyes. He didn't take it seriously at all. In fact, it seemed to be funny.

"He bent the knee to the Dragon Queen." she whispered again, gripping the paper tighter.

"I wonder how the Northern Lords will react to it." was Petyr's first comment, like he wasn't even concerned at all. "When they hear a man, whom they declared their King - who promised North would remain independent - stepped on his own word and sold them all out."

"They will be angry. It will be a mob without reigns." she muttered.

"Except, only... he wasn't their King anyway." Baelish added carefully.

Sansa finally straightened her back and looked at the fire at the hearth, burning brightly and warmly. "What are you saying?"

"Well, I am saying that he is a fugitive. That he isn't Stark and... that of course, without any claim to the North - he hasn't been here anyway. People have been turning cold." Petyr drank the glass to the end and laid it down. He poured himself more wine. "They haven't seen their King in well over two months. There are rumors he has abandoned them."

Sansa's fingers relaxed. Her grip on the paper eased, and tense brows loosened.

"But you have. You have been here the entire time." Baelish finished sweetly.

"It would be betrayal." Sansa mumbled and tapped her fingers on the wooden table.

"How can you betray something that never existed?" sweet reply came right back. "All you have to do is summon the Lords, read this paper out loud and..."

"And declare him a fugitive." she breathed out.  
***

Sansa gave the crowd a few minutes to wrap up their excited chatter and calm down. She rose on her feet.

"My lords," she began, "I have gathered you here today because I've received a letter from Jon Snow - The King in the North."  
There was a loud cheer.  
She had to wait a bit for all of them to calm down again.

"But it is not what you expected." she took a deep breath. Was she really doing this? Was she really going to step on Jon's trust, his faith in her?  
_It's for the good of the people,_ she quickly lied to herself, but a little voice of truth pushed through: _you always wanted this. That's why you're doing it._

"In this letter," she rose the little paper high up, "Jon claims to have bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen, The foreign conqueror and Dragon Queen."  
The hall went dead silent.

"Please, maester Wolkan, send the message around so the Lords can testify that it is Jon's writing. It is his seal as well." she quietly said to the old, bald man next to her. He nodded and hurried to pass it to the first Lord.

"Without your knowledge, without your opinion, without your approval - Jon went and betrayed the entire North. He sold me. He sold this castle. He sold all of you." She bravely inhaled, trying to make her voice as confident as possible.

The clamor started stirring in the hall. She could hear the betrayed feelings in their voices. Finally, these men hoped they would have autonomy, a ruler who knew what it meant to live in the North - to be _a part of North_ , and suddenly - it was ripped away from them.  
What hurt more was that it was by the man who they put all their trust in.

He didn't even want the crown, and now suddenly, he gave it away, like it was his to give.

"My lords," she rose her voice, calming them all down, "this, of course - doesn't matter. As a sworn man of Night's Watch, and as a Snow... Jon never had a claim at the title of the King. There was no coronation. There was no official crowning." Sansa's voice wavered here. "As the Lady of Winterfell..." 

Now she had too seek out those greyish eyes, green like mint he always chewed, playful like those of a cat eyes to comfort her. Petyr nodded and she opened her mouth to finally speak out the last words she wanted to say:

"I declare him a fugitive and a traitor to our cause."

There was silence.  
And then, one by one, men rose, and started chanting, furiously, angrily, demanding justice for the betrayal they've just suffered:

_Queen in the North.  
Queen in the North._

_Queen in the North._


End file.
